2 Weeks
by ojstm
Summary: Enough time for some lives to change. Enough time for some lives to end. Enough time to realize who you really are...
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: **Dead or Alive, characters, events and any other related materials are owned by Tecmo.inc, Team Ninja and Mr. Tomonobu Itagaki. This fanfiction regarding some/all of its elements are for personal entertainment purposes only and should not be distributed. Any original elements found here are hereby owned by me.

* * *

**PROLOGUE**

_(Inside an apartment; Room 307; 2 weeks later...)_

She began to cry...

"No! It shouldn't end this way!"

"We got no choice..."

"No! No! No!" She yelled.

It was unacceptable. Why does he have to pay for it? It was not his fault, it was hers. It was because of her that so much has been done. So much has been taken. So many people had gotten involved in a supposed to be isolated matter amongst the clan people.

Now this...

3 people inside an apartment room.

Earlier, a window has been shattered by a gunshot from outside. Shards of glass, pieces of paper and an overturned shelf litter the living room; the dusty carpet is stained with blood. The atmosphere was erringly silent for a moment, amidst the loud noises of car horns and city-life screeching from the other side of the confines of the apartment building.

The young man was wounded; apparently the bullet that shattered the window had found its mark. His stomach was bleeding; a clenched fist was grasping the wound to apply pressure on it. He wondered. Why is it that for the first time, he actually regretted all that he has ever done? It was funny. For him, his world only had himself, his sister and the rest of the people are just some hobos and ludicrously glutton yokels who had been hiring him ever since he was a kid. Under no holds-barred, eat-or-be eaten laws of life he led.

He viewed his life as rubbish. No hope for redemption, no second chances. He thought he had accepted that. And now, he wants a second chance.

And he wished he never had done that to her.

"Story of my life..." he smirked.

He began to pull out his gun. Underneath his leather jacket was a concealed pistol. Shaking, he cocked the gun. The weapon was loaded. He then handed it to the other man, tall and muscular. Quite a more honorable creature than he is.

"You do it..." he ordered.

"Are you...serious?" The other one replied.

"There's no time...You have to do it...Tell her...to..."

"No! Please! Don't do it!" She cut in.

"We have no choice! Get out of here before...before they find you!" He yelled. His voice was a bit faint; the wound on his stomach was already weakening him. He was fighting the pain, but his gasping breaths easily reveal that he's losing.

"No!" She insisted. "I vowed that nobody else has to die because of me! You're no excuse from that!"

She ran to his side, kneeling as she gripped his hand; pleading as tears pour down from her auburn eyes. Her eyes shined with hope, expecting for him to consider his hasty actions. She just would not let him kill himself. Rather badly.

But sometimes she doesn't realize that life can be a tragedy. She has yet to know that fact, again. After 2 weeks of serenity and peace she had spent. He turned his eyes to her; green orbs meeting in contact with her scarlet ones; tears were already streaming down from them like a river flowing from a broken heart. He hated himself for making other people cry like that. He caressed her cheek to calm her down; her face was now smudged with his blood. The young man grinned. Even though the blood mars her beauty, the angelic countenance remained unscathed; such a clean face, a clean soul. Those were the two things he'd wanted to see for so long.

From somebody else aside his sister.

At that moment, he was sure that there is still a future for her at least. A bright one. Like the one he had been dreaming of for his own sister. He found resolve. She has to live. Yes. He must do anything to get her out of here alive. Before they take her. It is such a waste if she had wasted the opportunity to live for tomorrow.

He gave a sad smile.

"I'm sorry...we...we got no other choice..." He whispered.

"No. Don't do this to me..." She closed her eyes in grief.

"You'll take care of her...won't you?" He asked the other man.

He nodded. No words are needed for a seemingly last request like that.

The wounded young man took a deep breath.

"I guess I'll die a patsy, eh?"

It was in that instant that he made up his mind. He gripped the pistol harder, rekindling the old feeling of holding the cold steel of a gun.

Suddenly, there were noises. He turned around when he heard some commotion going on at the first floor.

From outside the building, several men clad in black fatigues were already storming the apartment. Donning black vests, helmets, and radios and wielding firearms. They kept chattering in their receivers. Orders are overheard from their headphones; at least in a form of jumbled verbal radio static as partly-panicking civilians look on with awe and their eyes wide. It came to them that the police was raiding the apartment. The people were scurrying everywhere, but to no avail; the policemen weren't allowing anyone to leave the building. Doors and exits were being sealed off as bystanders and the living folk scatter about as if in a pandemic. The agents were rushing up to the only flight of stairs; others went to search other rooms.

Their entrance was fluid and well-drilled; barking at civilians to get down as they pass them. Whatever it is that they are here for seems to be a very serious pressing issue. Their orders were strict, whatever they are. Soon other police cars arrived at the scene; more agents have entered the apartment.

And then there came a huffing noise…

A police helicopter has also arrived; its blades chopping the air as the rotor gives off a mechanical purr, rather faintly. It is clear that it is hovering from a couple hundred feet or more; high enough to safely and effectively monitor the situation below.

"Priority 1 must be taken alive, do you copy? Priority 1 must be taken alive." says their handler via the radio.

"Roger that, Command." one of the agents below replied.

"Secondary suspects are identified to be within the building. Be advised: suspects are armed and are extremely dangerous. Proceed with caution. Shoot to incapacitate upon visual contact. Shoot to kill when engaged. Apprehend the suspects as much as possible. Do you copy?"

"Roger that, Command. All teams be advised, watch your fire. Repeat. All teams watch your fire. Minimize all necessary force. All teams, what's your status, over?"

With a gesture of a hand, he ordered his men to follow him. They were headed upstairs. The second floor was immediately searched to see if their man was there. Room by room. But all they could find were several frightened civilians, shaking as gun after gun were pointed at them. Then the agent's receiver picked up more calls.

"This is Alpha Team. Uh, we've secured the southwest sector; no contact with targets. Holding our perimeter, standing by for further orders, over."

"Bravo Team reporting in. Entry and exit points have been secured. Eye in the sky tells a negative on any unusual movement within our established perimeter. Awaiting orders, over."

"This is Bravo 3. We've set up a sniper position just north of the site. No activity sighted from the 3rd to the 10th floors. The windows were all closed. Be advised, over."

"This is Bravo 4. We got a visual on a possible location of Priority 1. There's a window shattered in one of the rooms of the 3rd floor. I guess it's a room 15, or 7. Better check it out. No movement as of yet. Look's like it's from a gunshot. We're keeping a close watch, over."

"Affirmative. Maintain your sniper positions. Charlie Team's headed up the third floor. Cover us as we go."

As a matter of fact, they have already reached the third floor. Just in a split second. They slowly crept along the hallway, while inching their way for door after door. Taking the guess of their comrades outside, they have scanned the doors for a 7 or a 15. It was odd that the third floor had almost no occupants; most of the people they had apprehended for their safety were on this floor upwards; or had just hid themselves elsewhere. Nobody was peeking out from their doors.

Then they finally made it to a room. Number 15 was surprisingly just in front of it. But that wouldn't matter. They've positioned themselves at either side. Their guns were fixed to aim at anything that will move. They were ready for anything. They decided to check first the room to their left.

And then, with a slow pace of anticipation, the nearest police officer stretched out his hand towards the door knob.

Room 307.


	2. Rendezvous

**Rendezvous**

_(2 weeks ago...Sunday, Morning)_

Kasumi never traveled by train before. But at least knowing about trains wasn't a recent first. As far as she could remember, the first time she ever saw one was when she strayed far away from her village during her free time when she was just 6. And it wasn't even a train, to her mistake. It was a summer morning when boredom made her to wander about throughout the forest, as she could recall, and when darkness fell, her brother Hayate was so angry that he had to drag her as they made their way back home. She didn't cry; she admitted that it was because of her mischief that she got herself and her brother in trouble. Contact with the outside world is strictly forbidden; such as the mere sight of people, roads, Western-styled houses, and public transportation and such.

She doesn't know much about vehicles; at most she knows the difference between a car, a van, a bus, so on. In her knowledge, trains are sleek, narrow, often shiny and white in color, noisy and are notably fast- such as the one she is in right now. She mistook the tour bus she saw as a train, thanks to her naivety at her tender age; during that summer morning years back. Well, perhaps at that time she was taught that a car is box-like and small, a bus is a bit larger and longer and a train being the longest. But knowing her idea of what's long and what's short, that bus was very long for her; and thus she thought it was a train. She giggled at herself remembering the time when her brother had to smack her head because of her foolishness. It was funny to think that a strong yet gentle woman like her was such an idiot once. No it's not her being naive. It is leaving the village in the first place that is deemed an idiot's idea. But that was a long time ago.

Now Kasumi knows the complexity of such things from the outside world. She marveled at the way things work outside her village. Here you really have to work for something in order to earn it, whereas back at her village people were united in a single communal spirit of generosity, honor and loyalty. Of course everybody still has to keep moving. But not to the extent that everyday poses a lot of, in her point of view, pointless things to do; with so little time. She would have been strained if she had to follow that norm. She remembered staring for a long at the time-table of the train station earlier. She wondered if everybody really has to stay conscious about time. It's not that she's a stranger to the concept of "schedules". But it is not just endemic to her notion of doing everything you can in everyday without worrying about time, as long as you're not a bum to just don't care at all. Much like one very simply life, so to speak.

Her stream of thought stopped for awhile. The quickly shifting images of light posts, houses, trees and evergreen as the train continues to sprint forward have finally subsided; the forests have finally gave away to reveal the beautiful mountains from the distance, with the highlights of the sunrise brightening their natural green silhouette. Kasumi sat up for a moment with her face closely leaning at the glass window as she admires the beauty of the glorious peaks from afar. She managed to smile a bit, reminiscing those days when she used to climb up trees as a little girl just to witness the sight of the sun protracting its golden rays as night slowly envelopes the sky.

Those moments remind her of her once joyful innocence. Those days when she used to fish with Ayane and her brother. Those times when she had not a care in the world. Those things that should have lasted longer. But those too were a long time ago.

As much as she would want everything back the way they were before, she really wants to know why did Hayabusa told her to pack-up and move into the city to a prearranged address; where she would be "safer" he said. His claim kind of contradicts her current situation; the stream of assassins sent to capture or kill her had ceased for almost a week. Kasumi wondered if Hayate has finally had enough. Every time his men return empty-handed he gets more stressed. Perhaps he's wondering about the point of wasting his time on such an "old matter", whereas he could be more concerned about facing the threats poised against the Mugen Tenshin. Both within and without. Or maybe his conscience overpowered his strong resolve, and now probably he feels an old friend calling him: guilt.

But she knows that Ayane's persistence to see her as a corpse might eventually pull through. Perhaps following Ryu's advice would be a proper course of action.

The countryside has finally given way to the first glances of the metropolis. The passing images of the forest quickly shifted to that of the industrialized world; outside the city is a leather factory with trucks and forklifts moving about doing their tasks. The highway parallel to the rail-line of the train has finally branched into different roads, each one pertaining to a different destination. Everything about this cityscape is almost the way she had imagined it. Kasumi could only hear about tales of the city from some of the villagers who had actually been there.

She glanced outside; city-dwellers are everywhere doing their routines, even at this time of the morning.

"So many people." She whispered to herself.

She never got accustomed being surrounded by masses. She hated to admit it, but being an extrovert is something she never had developed. Or did she even have wanted. The lineage she was born into demanded seclusion.

Still it would be easier for her to blend in with such a large population moving about every minute, she thought. Assassins would also think twice about taking her out in the open; there are a lot witnesses. Typical, for a busy metropolis such as this one. But even though it gave her a sense of security from her pursuers, there is still much she needs to know about the city. She doesn't have any assets in this place. Nor does she have any idea about the people here. Hopefully, Ryu does; since he gave her the proper address for the safe house he has arranged for her.

The train finally slowed down, Kasumi realized that they were nearing a station; which is where she'll drop-off. When the train grounded to a halt, she took a deep breath and grabbed her meager luggage from under her seat.

"Well, here I go."

She stood up and made her way out of the train, along with a few other passengers as well.

"Kasumi, I sure hope you know what you're doing..." she said to herself.

That would be something she'll remember. The moment she left her seat, she made up her mind that now there's no turning back. And if she regrets ending up here in the city, it would be too late. She might end up in nowhere if that's the case. Or worse, she might end up dead.

She shook her head, shaking off that horrible thought. There is much to see in the city. There is still much to learn. After all, this is not like a simple visit to the city. She should like it here for a while. Hopefully, when Ryu contacts her again; her stay here wouldn't be that much of a bad idea after all.


	3. Cold and Dark

**Cold and Dark**

_(Much Earlier...Wednesday, Midnight)_

Walking towards the dark and dusty alley has been the nightly routine by the young man. It was his habit to be on time, regardless what is it that is tasked to him. Even if his job demanded that he stays awake until midnight. Surprisingly enough though, the insomnia he had developed for more than the half of his youth suddenly became dull. For the first time in his uninteresting life, he was very sleepy. He raised his head up, staring at the blackened sky above. There were no stars this night. The clouds seemed like a large blanket covering the night lights of the heavens, even the moon was out of sight. There was only a faint radiance from behind them.

He sighed; the night was cold and dark. Just like almost every other one.

Perhaps his body was so darn tired of the same routine. Over and over again. For the past 16 years. Whenever Mr. Pacelli calls him up, the details are filled in, and then he heads to where the meeting place is. Soon he would find that same hooded guy with a mustache and dirty fingernails handing him the parcel, then off he goes. Usually the transaction would go well, if it does, he'd have his 200 dollars and he can go home; back to that dirty alley and climbing that ladder to his apartment room, sneaking from the outside so as not to wake up his sister.

He sighed and strolled forward. The thick leather jacket didn't made him comfortable; provided he still kept his backpack slung over his shoulders. The pack was heavy. The young man wondered what is it that Mr. Pacelli wanted him to deliver half a kilometer away from the city center. It could be the usual contrabands that a typical cartel always traffic: guns, drugs, money, other contrabands and stuff. But whatever it is that's contained inside the backpack is none of his business. He's just a courier. Nothing more, nothing less. Or more like the Transporter; in that movie he watched several days ago. Yeah, he and that character share the same "rules". No questioning, no mugging around. The package must be delivered at all costs. Except without the black suit, the cool moves and the slick cars. No. Just a guy with an ordinary guy's countenance. With, in some point of view, an extraordinary walk of life.

His wristwatch rang. It was 12:00. Perfect. Right on time. A few short steps later he found himself standing in front of the back door leading to his predestined meeting place. He took out his baseball cap and wore it on his head; an assurance that Mr. Stewart would know who he is. Stewart is a fan of baseball. Few people know about it, and Mr. Pacelli was considerate enough to remind the young man of that, so that "Old Jack" would know that his good friend had sent him.

He took a deep breath; he stretched out his arm and began to knock. He smirked to himself; a few short talks and then the trade-off, and then he could get some sleep.

"Special delivery..." he muttered.

No answer. He knocked again.

"Special delivery from Mr. P; anybody there?"

A peek hole slid open. Then a pair of cruel-looking eyes stared at him.

"Yeah?", says the watcher.

"The merchandise is here, open up..."

"What's the password?"

The young man was surprised to hear that. Is the baseball cap not enough for a clearance? Mr. Stewart, as far as he could remember, had stressed out to his men that the courier be let in no matter what the circumstances are. Being Mr. Pacelli's messenger slash deliver boy has some advantages after all. He had the permission to enter his premises anytime. He thought everybody knew that. The watcher is probably a new guy.

"Sixes, Sevens, Sinners and- "

"That's good enough." The watcher replied.

A lock clanged open from within. The door opened and the young man stepped inside. His head was lowered down, staring at the ground below. Partly because he's tired, and partly because the weight of the bag on his back was wearing him down. But mostly because he just want to get some shut-eye.

"Thanks..." he mumbled.

A few steps later, however, he bumped into the watcher. He rose up his head.

"Sorry..."

His green eyes suddenly shot out wide. The "watcher" was wearing a black suit, towering the young man menacingly because of his height. There was a radio receiver in his left ear. A frown was stressed in his face, looking down at the courier with a pair of expressionless eyes.

He looked like...a cop. He blinked again. Yes, he is a cop. The courier had walked into a trap.

"FBI. You're under-"

"Shit! Screw you!"

In that instant, the young man threw the pack into the agent's face.

"Agghh!!"

The agent staggered and fell down; the bag was heavy enough to force him on his back. And was unusually hard enough to break his nose. Then the young man heard faint commotions; coming towards him. Without hesitation, he turned around. He began to run. Stewart's place had been infiltrated. The FBI is here. Everybody inside might have been arrested by now. Even "old Jack" himself. Two more agents emerged from the door. The "watcher" had back-up.

"Get that kid!" His nose was bleeding.

"He's headed for the street! Get McConnell and Heckler over here!"

The courier kept darting forward. His sleepiness has left him. In place was fear and adrenaline pumping through his veins, making sure that he is wide awake. He dashed out of the alley, and into the street. He didn't dare to look back; the sound of feet running towards him is enough to keep him in reality. Not even a smidgen of drowsiness went throughout his mind. The sound of sirens from the distance further stressed that he must get out. Quickly.

Suddenly, a bright light rushed at the corner of his eye. A car screeched in front of the young man. He slowed down for a while; the car would have hit him if he hadn't. But that would have also been a bad idea; another agent came out from the car, a gun popping out fresh from under his coat, aimed at him.

"FBI, freeze!"

But he didn't faze. He kept on running.

"I said freeze!!" Says the agent emerging from the car.

Before he could pull the trigger, the young man leaped the car's hood. He landed staggering in his feet, but stood up and continued to quickly stride forward into another alley.

"Damn it! Don't let that kid get away!"

By now, 4 or 5 agents were pursuing him. He could hear the distant sirens of police cars seemed heading his way. A helicopter was hovering over the skies with a spotlight on to see if they could map him out from the narrow and dark alleyways. It dawned on him that everybody is now after him. But the courier kept on running. He bumped over a trash bin and shoved it aside as a vain attempt to slow down his pursuers. But that didn't do any good. He glanced back, seeing the makeshift obstacle was simply hopped over by the agents. He frowned; turned around and mindlessly pushed-over a man walking by the alley as he continues to dash forward.

"Out of the way!"

He doesn't want to get caught. No. Not in this night. Nothing must get in his way. His eye was suddenly flashed by another blinding light. It was the helicopter. However, the light soon brisked away. It seems that the guys above were having problems trying to find his trail. He kept running forward, quickening his pace as he makes his way out of the alley.

The helicopter seemed unable to spot him. The crew was only guided through the radio chatter the agents were doing on the ground. This was clearly getting them nowhere. They have to catch this guy now. Now knowing that a 100 candela light didn't help, they suddenly turned off their search light and activated their night-vision. The co-pilot could now see clearly. After scanning alley after alley, he was able to spot the fleeing young man; intercepted by 5 FBI agents.

His radio suddenly called in.

"This is Blue Team. We're en route to the scene. ETA, 1 minute. Have you spotted the subject, over?"

The co-pilot responded.

"Affirmative. Subject is headed northeast along the red light junction. Repeat, subject is northeast along the red light junction. He's headed your way."

"Copy that. We're going in now. Make sure you keep him in your sights."

"Roger that Blue Team."

"Green light is given to Yellow Team. I repeat. Green light's on Yellow Team. Shoot to disable, do you copy?"

"Uh...copy that Blue Team. Yellow Team has the go. We're setting up now."

He switched off the receiver. Then the co-pilot turned to the two men behind him. He nodded at them, and they followed suit. They know what they have to do.

"Make him bleed if necessary. But we need him breathing, got that?"

The sniper grinned.

"And make sure it is a clean shot. Just one shot. Don't miss."

The helicopter halted and began to hover; providing a base for the sniper to take aim with.

The two men nodded. And with that, they began to settle themselves to position. One of them took out a pair of binoculars. The other one held a rifle; attached to it was a large scope the police use for night time operations. The sniper took aim, while the helicopter was kept steady. He scanned the street where the courier was dashing through. Then, he spotted him. He instantly recognized his leather jacket and baseball cap. The young man had no idea that he was locked in the sniper's crosshairs. His finger was rested on the trigger, waiting for the opportunity...

Meanwhile, the fleeing courier got out of the alley and then began running towards another street. The 5 agents behind were still pursuing him. The young man suddenly felt out of breath. He wasn't used to prolonged escapes like this. Much less the instances wherein he must hightail out of the scene after a trade-off went haywire. In fact, this was his first getaway after 5 years. But he has to keep on going. He doesn't want to end this now-horrible night not in his favor. He turned over another garbage can. This time however, he sent it rolling behind him. The agents gasped and tried to evade. But they were so fast that one of them had no time to react and tripped on it.

"Aagghhh!!"

His comrades didn't even bother to help him out. They kept forward, chasing their man.

"These guys are persistent!"

The young man searched for another place to lure his pursuers. He could head into another alley, but the helicopter was still up there. He has to get away somehow. Anything, no matter what it takes. Heading to the shopping district would be a good idea; there are still a lot of people there who might indirectly interfere with the chase. Yeah. That's a good idea he thought. He then began to run even faster, not minding his numbing and exhausted feet. He has to get there fast.

He didn't know that he has already passed the shopping district a couple of blocks ago. Now, he had just crossed his third.

Suddenly, he heard a bang. A gunshot. It barely missed his legs. It was enough for him to turn around, and see a small patch of dirt kicked up from a hole in the pavement. A bullet hole.

"Shit!"

They were now using guns to take him out. It seems to him that the gunshot came from the helicopter hovering from above the scene. The FBI was so determined to capture him.

And then another shot. The bullet zipped passed the young man's leather jacket and also past his arm. The bullet was aimed at his left hand. It just missed hitting him, but at least gave him a searing scratch. He felt his left hand burning. That was enough to let his guard down. Little did he know that he was already slowing down. An agent suddenly tackled him from behind and into the pavement, from out of nowhere. He struggled to let himself free from his grip, but soon 2 more agents rushed and began to restrain him, almost dog-piling in. He was pushed into the asphalt. Soon he found himself lying down flat on his belly. His hands were bound together as the agents held his arms and legs tightly.

He was finally caught. Soon, sirens began to screech from afar.

"You little bastard! Try to get away this time!!"

"Cuff him! Over here! McConnell over here!"

"Hey man! What did I do? What did I do?" the young man tried to plea.

But they didn't listen. He could only move his neck. He felt something cold and hard locking his hands. He realized that he was handcuffed. Now he was really screwed. They stood him up and began to search his pockets, later they took out his wallet and his keychain. But aside from those, they were surprised to see nothing. The sirens suddenly became louder, as more agents finally arrived one car after the other. Two black cars stopped in front of them. More agents emerged and went toward the scene, with a curious hobo watching from his dumpster-home afar. A commotion is already underway as the agents try to make the struggling young man to stand up and face the wall.

"Make way! Make way!" Says one of the agents.

"Hey McConnell, are you sure he's the right guy?"

Nathan Akahashi. 22 years old. Orphaned. He has been working with a notorious cocaine dealer named Angelo Pacelli for more than 16 years now. Mostly as a messenger and fabricator. No wonder the FBI has been on him for a long time. He'd been helping in the circulation ofmore than 120 million dollars worth of cocaine for the past years, even if he doesn't know what is inside his bag every night. And now they caught him.

"Yeah. It's him alright. Report back to Central, Heckler. Tell the brass that we got him."

"Whatever you say."

All the young man can do is wonder what will happen to him. Nathan's insomnia suddenly resurfaced again. After all that running. But not even a hint of a winking eye was on his face. He kept thinking on what went wrong. Who leaked the deal? How did the Feds know when and where he'll be? How did they know about Mr. Stewart's place? Nobody, strictly nobody, even from within the cartel knows about this. Only Mr. Pacelli, Mr. Stewart and himself. They are the only ones who know about the deal. Who could have...?

He shook that thought away. The FBI probably had been simply gathered the facts independently.

"Remember: Asian decent, black hair, green eyes, medium build, 5 '6' and 120 pounds..."

Nathan overheard the radio of an agent beside him.

"Yes sir, Positive ID. Akahashi is now in our custody."

"Good. Bring him over here, quickly."

The night was cold and dark. Probably as cold as those cuffs binding his hands. Nathan was left dumbfounded. This can't be happening. Everything was set in motion from behind his back. He can't believe it, he really fell into a trap. He was pushed into a car. Then, somebody tapped his back.

"Hey kid."

Nathan looked around. It was the "watcher". He was holding something. Small, black and narrow. Like a TV remote. Then it began to spark. The agent thrust it into his neck.

"What the he-(ZAP)"

The night was cold and dark. Such as what Nathan felt and saw after the tazer zapped him out cold.

"That's for breaking my nose, you punk..."


	4. To Find a Way

**To Find a Way**

She is tired. Dead tired. To be precise, she had been walking for about 45 minutes now; walking around in circles perhaps. Kasumi had already crossed street after street, and she still couldn't find her address. There's no doubt that she's lost. A part of her wanted to be furious, knowing that she could have just asked Hayabusa a map instead of a piece of paper, now crumpled and slightly torn, that pertains to her destination. But given the time he gave her to prepare and the sense of urgency in his eyes, there was little she could do back then; at most appeal to him and ask what _exactly _is going on.

She also wanted to curse herself because of her choice of wardrobe today. A striped blue and white sleeveless undershirt and a pair of white jumpers are suited for walking, but not for prolonged ones such as this. And with sweat beginning to moisten in her back and the slightest idea on where she is, she hated to admit that she is now fuming with anger. For her it was funny. Occurrences such as this, she thought, are rare.

And she doesn't even have a watch with her. She just hoped that she brought it with her during that hasty packing-up of her things last night. It's probably stashed somewhere with her clothes in the duffel bag; or maybe in that clutch bag she also had put in there.

She can't help to notice something though. Even though there are a lot of people going about their daily routines to go to work and such, they seem not to notice her. They ignore her in a lot of ways; like briskly walking past her, or not minding her by drinking their coffee or talking to the phone. Or just avoid looking at her at all. What? Is it a norm in the city to see a girl walking around the block, and then finding herself at the same spot she started a minute later? Even if this had been going on for a couple of hours?

And instead of even daring to ask her if she's lost or not, Kasumi can catch some of them glimpsing at her from head to toe. Like she's some kind of object of lust for something she dare not bring about. Some of them were even smirking; assuming that their dirty thoughts were surfacing when they saw her.

"Men…"

But looking on the bright side, at least it's not hot or anything. Neither is it going to rain. The sky was the usual bright and sunny blue, albeit partly cloudy. Just enough to keep her spirits up. She could just laugh at herself later, the kind of trouble she got herself into. Still that would be saved for later.

Going back to reality, Kasumi needed to rest. It's already 10 AM. But of course she wouldn't know that thanks to the watch missing in her wrist. Her feet are now tired. Quite unusual for one who used to sprint kilometers during her training as a shinobi as a young girl. But even strong women can get exhausted in one or more ways.

After crossing another street, she stopped by in a pastry shop. Nothing much to tell about the place. Only that it was so simple enough to be recognized; there were only a couple of tables outside and a few chairs to sit on, all shaded by a few meters of awnings. She sat down, giving out a tired sigh as she laid down her duffel bug. A rare frown is strewn in her face. Tired. And probably really pissed off perhaps.

"I sure wish Hayabusa is here right now." She mumbled.

She needed something to clobber. Just to knock off some steam. She usually doesn't get irritated that easily. But with time seemingly crawling in hours and with no idea on where she is even angels can get angry. Brushing the banks of her hair aside, Kasumi realized that a few beads of sweat formed in her forehead. She reached into her pocket to get her handkerchief.

"Can I help you miss?" Says the shop's clerk.

"No, thank you." She smiled back, wiping her temple with her hankie.

"Well, I feel that you're lost. Am I right?"

"I…um…well…"

There was no point denying it.

"…Yes. I guess I am."

Kasumi stood up and went towards the counter. She handed the old woman the paper she had, partly embarrassed to be asking for help even though the clerk would gladly direct her. But Kasumi is just equally as glad; now she's getting somewhere.

"Can you direct me to this place please?" She politely asked.

The old woman frowned at the crumpled paper. She took out her glasses from under the counter. Now she was able to see clearly. Letting her eyes browse on them, she now knows where the young woman is headed.

"You're going to the apartment down the road? To Mrs. Osaka's place?"

Kasumi didn't know what to answer. Even she doesn't have an idea if the address Hayabusa gave her was that of an inn or a house. But at least it gave her relief. She could now picture the place she's headed to.

"Uh…yes. I guess so."

"Well, just keep going down that road until you see an intersection. Turn right and keep going until you reach that shopping district."

Kasumi listened attentively.

"Then you should see a sign in one of the buildings. 'Osaka Apartment Bldg. 3'. That address you have is that of the 2nd building, just behind the third."

"Oh I see! Thank you! Thank you very much!"

The old lady returned the paper.

"Would you like a few slices of cake before you go?"

"No, thank you."

She went back to her seat to get her bag. But suddenly, a growl in her stomach grounded her to a halt. She stopped there for awhile. She forgot; she only took a quick breakfast this morning before she left. Just a dried fish and a couple of slices of bread. Surely those weren't enough to start her day, and even less to keep her going and going for a couple of hours or more.

_Curses, I forgot to eat _

…

Kasumi turned around with a blush and a sheepish smile; embarrassed, assuming the old lady had heard the cries of her tummy.

"On second thought…can I take three?"

* * *

_(On the same day, FBI Headquarters)_

It was just like any other day. A typical scene in the office of the FBI. People were holding papers and talking in their cell phones as they move about going their way. In one particular desk in the other end of the office, the sounds of a computer keyboard's clicking gave the telltale sign of some guy with eyeglasses doing the paperwork. A colleague of his then approached him, a couple of tickets for a basketball game clenched between his fingers.

"So, McConnell, are you going to the game tonight?"

"Go find somebody else."

"Come on! It's Boston versus Minnesota! A sure win for that bet you had with Darren! You should be there to shove it in his face when your-"

"I told you I can't, alright? I still got to finish the report on the Pacelli case."

"What case, man? Look it's already done. The old guy's already approved to provide full cooperation. Akahashi is already taken care of. Stewart and his lackeys are so busted as hell; they might not even have enough money to hail a taxi cab. All the evidence, all of the merchandise and documents…"

"Angelo Pacelli and Jack Stewart have connections to DOATEC. Now why would a couple of drug cartels need such a link with that probably multi-billion dollar enterprise?"

"Maybe they had a deal, or something. Anyways that's no longer our business."

"Or maybe you can just shut up or you can just help me finish the report, Heckler. Your call."

"My call…my call…my call. Why is it always my call, huh?"

Jeff McConnell and Stanley Heckler. Two privileged young men in their thirties. Both came from privileged families, both went to school for privileged boys and girls, both abandoned their privileged lives to be protectors of the city's many privileged peoples. Using the privileges given unto them by law. They're no dynamic duo, even though their fellow agents would like to call them that. They have been partners for two years. 2 weeks later, it would be their third.

McConnell would like to think of himself as the brains of the team. Having studied at least two years of his life in MIT. He knows when and where an opportunity is present, to catch a criminal for example, using photographs and information he's proud to have gathered himself. He handles most of the radio chattering when they're in an operation. He can fight, though he would often leave the brutes and muscle to Heckler.

Heckler on the other hand is the almost direct opposite of his "brother-in-arms". It's obvious on their bodies; a high-school life spent as a quarterback provided him with a lot of build and physical energy, while McConnell's simple demeanor makes him one with the crowd. But if you want to see real muscle, you should look for his colleague Nelson instead. Perhaps in another light, Stanley is more laid back than his workaholic friend. If he's not laughing at jokes, he's making them.

But today is no joke. Even though the ruckus they had during that Wednesday midnight proved to be the final nail in the coffin for the Pacelli case, everything just goes deeper than they've expected. Half of Jack Stewart's bank accounts, as it turned out, were care of DOATEC itself. He has been in their payroll for quite sometime. But the intentions surrounding that remain elusive. McConnell and Heckler had submitted that information to the Chief, and he said that he'll be giving a recommendation for further investigation on Sunday; which is today.

It meant a lot for the duo. If the top brass says that the information they've gathered is relevant and essential to the case, then they'll have to work even harder; which is good in a way since much of the FBI's resources will be allocated for the investigation. But it's mostly a bad thing, especially for Heckler. Rest and Relaxation would be severely cut, and that means that there's no free time whatsoever for any of them. The basketball game tonight will be one of them.

Another guy approached the desk. A tall one.

"The Chief's ready for you now."

"OK. We'll take it from here, Nelson." Says McConnell.

"Hey, Nelson! How's your nose?"

There was a plaster covering the bridge of his nose. He got his nose broken after being hit hard by the bag that young courier had on his back. It turned out that the contents of his bag were just a few large stones. Why did he have those instead of any more "incriminating" contrabands, they don't know. Still, being hit in the face by anything like that would cause severe facial reconstruction.

"Don't ask…"

"Too late. I already did." Snickered Heckler.

"You think that's funny!?" His fists were clenching.

"Alright. Don't even think about starting a fight here" McConnell stood up "You just go take your plane to Japan before you break Stanley's neck."

Nelson went on his way, fuming. Other people stood aside as he walks past them and out of the door. They may have had their time with him around angry like that. It was best to just stay out of his way. McConnell and Heckler left the desk and made their way to the Chief's office; which was just at the other end.

"You know you can't talk that way to Nelson. He got his issues you know?"

"Hey I was just screwing around!"

"Now why would you do that?"

"Cause' we may not have the time to do so if Corwin insisted that we continue the investigation of that case of ours. We may not even get to see the game tonight. Thanks to you."

"Now, it's my fault!?"

"Whatever, man. Let's just get over with this thing."

As they entered the office, the Chief was talking with somebody on the phone; his seat is clearly facing away from the two agents. Clearly he didn't hear them enter. His desk was organized and neat; save for the few grains of ash near the ashtray where a smoking cigarette is held firmly. And there endowed in his table a brass nameplate of their superior. "Deputy Director Victor E. Corwin"

McConnell cleared his throat.

"(Ahem) Uh…you wished to see us sir?"

Corwin, obviously, is still talking to the phone.

"We'll take care of it… Don't worry, sir…An investigation is underway. Yes…Yes…We will, we'll surely do that…"

Heckler was about to suggest to his partner that they should just wait outside. But it seems that their boss has heard them enter the office and began to close his conversation on the phone.

"But we'll need to finish this discussion later. I got some…official matters to attend to…"

He then hung up the phone. With that he turned around to the men he had called.

"Take a seat."

"Thanks, Chief…"

"_Director_." He corrected them.

"Sorry, sir…uh…Director…sir."

Victor Corwin isn't one who entertains jokes in his Division. The term "Chief" was the famous nickname those in the FBI would call their Directors. That word had been echoing the hallways and offices of the building for sometime now. Well, until Corwin came along. He didn't like the word and so he constantly wants to be sure that he be addressed in his proper position in office. Why he hated the word is out of question. People speculated that maybe because it sounded too "Indian". You know, like Crazy Horse and Geronimo.

Corwin is a fat man. Not because he eats too much. His case of obesity is probably because of a maxim that says "some people are just born fat." But who knows? A lot of people would easily recognize him because of his mustache and bald head. The latter is the most distinguishable though, because virtually not even a tiny tidbit of hair is growing. This is something he doesn't want the other Deputy Directors, even more his inferiors, to make fun of. And he has been Deputy Director himself for 4 years now.

"So sir. This is about the Pacelli case, isn't it?"

"Yes of course."

"Damn it, here we go." Heckler whispered.

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that."

Corwin then picked up a folder from under his desk. Inside of it seems to be an official memo. He handed it to McConnell.

"And with that, the FBI Director has clearly expressed his insistence that we conclude the investigation with urgency."

McConnell scanned over the file. No doubt about it. This is indeed from Corwin's superior. His name and his signature, as well as those from the other top brass of the FBI, are there. He noticed a line within the long and wordy paragraphs of the memo, saying that full cooperation of the FBI, its resources and assets, are hereby provided unto them. This was odd, for McConnell and Heckler. This kind of assistance only comes if an investigation, or any other matter, is of top-priority. Is the local Pacelli case a top-priority? How come?

"As you can see, with the mention of DOATEC helping out the drug cartels, the big dogs have just realized that they missed to sniff this up; something even bigger than the Watergate Scandal. We don't know what it is. Hopefully it's still brewing, but they want you to find out what kind of crap's about to sprout."

"But sir, that means-"

"You got the help that you needed McConnell. Might as well make use of it. You may just want to find a way to start though. The brass only gave you and your team, two weeks."

So, Heckler's worst fears have been realized. They are going to finish the investigation no matter what; in just 2 weeks. How could they possible accomplish that? Two weeks? Setting up the Pacelli case took 4 months, and ending it isn't just as simple as a flick of a wrist! What are they thinking? But all of these thoughts subsided and became nothing. It would be too pointless to ponder about something that has already begun. He looked to McConnell; his eyes were glimmering with attentiveness as he listens to the details of the actions they are suggested to take.

"You should start in Japan, since DOATEC has a lot going-on in the country and all. Report to me daily from then. Further details and instruction will be conveyed to you so remember to keep your channels up."

"We already got a man-"

"Oh, you mean Nelson? Well, I guess you've provided yourselves a good start this time."

Heckler dared to open his mouth; muttering the only sensible words of his in Director Corwin's office. He didn't want to say it, but he had to know.

"So sir, when will we start?"

Corwin gave a conniving smile. That was bad. Heckler wished he'd just shut up. He just sealed his fate.

"Why, right now."


	5. The Unexpected Guests

**Disclaimer: **Pardon me if I cannot update this story well. I'm on vacation for the time being...

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* * *

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**The Unexpected Guests**

_(Meanwhile, In Mrs. Osaka's Apartment)_

Mrs. Osaka is a romantic. Unlike other old ladies that one might encounter in a town, she remains sweet and welcoming to others, instead of being all grumpy and rude despite her age. Partly because these will help insure the steady influx of new tenants in her apartment and partly because she wanted to stay young after her husband passed away 2 years ago. However, she is too friendly for her own good, and this gives some guests the creeps. She's very fond of considering everyone her son or daughter and would never fail in expressing this kind of 'love'. She'd gladly clean someone's room even without his or her permission, for example.

Perhaps it is her way of spreading the "home filled with love" atmosphere. Even at her late 50's, she still watches soap operas even until midnight. Maybe longer. And if she's not watching soap operas, more specifically if she has nothing to do at all, she's reading romance paper-back books. All the time, everywhere. Everyday if she had a chance. Her personal assistant, actually his grandson, Yoshiro has exclaimed about this; the two had a long argument once.

Mrs. Osaka is absent today though. She decided to take a break and visit her grandchildren in Nagoya for the summer, just to relax and lay back. She's been out of town for almost two weeks. Management has been given to Yoshiro and his step-mother for now. It's not really a matter of concern. But for 3 guys, it is a wonderful break for some reason.

Room 308. A little bonding between friends is taking place.

"You bet, Ken! I'd be damned if she missed her train or forgot her money and got back here."

"Do you really hate Mrs. Osaka? I mean, of course, I'd be pissed off if she had messed with my things and found out that I have a porn magazine under my bed and scold me. But I won't hate her for 3 months long."

"Why shouldn't I?! Come on, she keeps meddling with our rooms every week. Talk about invading our privacy!"

"But she's just cleaning our place. Since we almost have no time to tidy up our rooms and all, I think we should even thank her."

"Whatever, Ken. Maybe you 'like' the old lady, huh?"

"Shut up, Ichiro!"

Ken rose up from his seat and began to gather his things. His carpool will be arriving in less than 5 minutes, as he checked from his watch. Ichiro noticed that his other friend is lying down on the other couch, hands behind the back of his head and his eyes closed. Quite unusually, he isn't listening to what they're talking about.

"Well, I gotta change for work. See you guys later." Ken then left.

"Hey Satoshi!" Ichiro heartily slapped his shoulder to get his attention.

"Huh? Wha…what?"

"Weren't you listening to us?"

"Sorry…ahhh… I just dozed off." Satoshi yawned. "I did the nightshift you know…"

Ken, Ichiro and Satoshi are among the only 'guys' in the apartment. Young men with big dreams and a lot of things to do; with so little time to do them. Ken and Ichiro knew each other since they were kids, growing up together in the same high school. And as lifetime friends, they are inclined to share Room 307 together; perhaps for life. That makes their friend Satoshi all alone in his room right next to theirs.

"Ichiro! Where's the tie you borrowed from me? The blue one! I need it now!" Ken called out.

Kensuke, or just Ken, works as an apartment store clerk in downtown. He never wanted that kind of job, much like how Satoshi feels with his, but he still works with conviction. He is more reasonable than his childhood friend Ichiro and tries to get through things with logic. Also, he is less hostile to strangers than he is. He went to the US a year ago to fix some 'personal' issues. In a sharp contrast between the two, Ken takes things more seriously. Unfortunately, this makes him prim and proper. A perfectionist, per say. It's a wonder why he could get along well with Ichiro.

"Geez! I said it's on your closet! What are you, blind?"

Ichiro, on the other hand, dreams of getting big in the city. That's what his parents always wanted him to do. Ichiro is brash, arrogant but very aggressive; typical for someone raised in an upbringing of businessmen. Of course, being born to a prestigious family is certainly accompanied with big responsibilities. The latter is what amuses Ichiro the least, though. That's why he left the family during college to create his own set of responsibilities. He's been working in a car dealership since then; little to do and lesser things to be responsible for.

"I got to take a shower…" Ichiro stood up with a sigh "Hey Ken! Did you save me some shampoo?"

"Yeah…" His voice is heard from the other room. Ichiro then went out and closed the door behind him shut. "I still can't find my tie! Where is it?!"

With his friends out of his room, Satoshi now has a moment of peace. He leaned back to his couch even further; letting it cushion the shape of his aching back. Being a tofu delivery boy working at night is truly demanding. Normally, his shift was in the morning. But the nightshift guy had a fever and so his boss begged him to work 18 hours a day; until the other guy recovered. Not only does he have to stay up late, he has to make sure that the tofu makes it in time and intact. What's more, he has to get to the place using the company motorcycle (actually, it's more like a scooter). And with a vehicle comes, in his point of view, the harsh rules of traffic and careful driving. Riding, in his case. For him, the job just cramps his style.

He thought he is used to nightshifts, but he is slowly being proven wrong. This job just seems not his liking. Satoshi is never a quitter, but he might just do that to his boss…

Speaking of his boss, he realized he had forgotten one detail.

"Oh yeah. I forgot to read the memo he had given me."

Satoshi stood up, stretching his back as he makes his way to the bedroom. Each room in Mrs. Osaka's apartment is divided into 3 small rooms. A small living room will immediately greet the person who opens the door, with a bedroom directly adjacent to it and a bathroom as well. There is little furniture in the entire room, apart from two beds, there are 3 closets; one for each bed and in the living room. A small table is there to accommodate small gatherings; with tatami mats completing the typical Japanese aesthetic.

Satoshi, as well as his friends, have bought himself the Western-made couches to add a little touch of personal preference. The rooms after all, although soothing for everybody's taste, do feel a bit stereotypical and cheap looking. He did have the money anyway, even though he is not one who will stay in the apartment for long. He has other plans on his mind…

"Damn, I need to stay awake…" He said to himself. The drowsiness is kicking in. He doesn't need to sleep; at least not yet. He still has to read that memo or else he might miss up something important. And he still has to go to work today.

Going inside the bedroom, he grabbed a can of cold coffee he had bought last night. He emptied it after several gulps. He got to his backpack and opened it, browsing through the contents until he found that brown envelope sealed with tape. Suddenly, there was a knock on the door.

"It's open." he spoke out. But nobody replied.

"What? All out of shampoo?" He assumed that it is Ichiro on the door.

Then another knock. Still no voice.

He let down his things to see who it is. That is odd. He isn't expecting anyone today. Ichiro wouldn't knock if it was him. Ken would; but he's busy prepping up for work right now. And no one would knock twice. So who could it be? An unexpected guest? No. Satoshi found rather unlikely. 5 steps later, he opened the door.

"Sorry Ichiro, but I'm all out of-"

"G-Good morning." A soft voice greeted him.

As much as he would like to deny it, Satoshi was proven wrong. In front of him is a girl, with silky red hair, carrying a large bag. Her head slightly lowered down, as if afraid to look up to him. He on the other hand was slack-jawed for a moment. What a surprise it is for him.

"Can I help you…miss?"

"Is…Is this room 308?" her voice quivered.

That was a rather stupid question she asked. The numbers for each room are obviously etched in every door. But feeling rather uneasy, being in front of a guy seemingly just as her age, there is nothing sensible she could think of to blurt out. Truly, she isn't one who is used in the city.

"Uh…yeah?" He frowned.

"The clerk said that this room is already taken…and that I will have a roommate. So…"

And then it him. Satoshi's eyes widened when he realized that.

"Oh. You were the one who's reserved here!"

"Y-Yes."

"I thought you were supposed to be here yesterday?"

"Well I…There has been…uh…"

"It's okay. You don't need to explain." He smiled at her.

The girl lowered her head even further, trying to hide the slight redness in her face to him. He isn't surprised by that. He figured that this girl is just shy at people. And he knew a lot of girls.

"Come in. Come in. You can place your things by the table."

"Thank you very much." She smiled back.

As the girl entered, Satoshi saw Ichiro peeking out from his room, with mischief strewn across his face. He heard the conversation; he peeped out when he heard a different voice. He may have also known about her inevitable arrival; he doesn't seem surprised seeing her. But the way she looked…

"Is she the one who-" he whispered.

"Yeah. Yeah."

Ichiro grinned. "You lucky bastard…" he jeered.

"Go back inside!"

And with that he closed the door to attend to his guest. Clearly she seems very tired. After the few heartbeats it took for her to drop her things, she sat in the couch; a sigh of relief escapes from her lips. Satoshi had known of her coming. He has been informed of her before his room was even assigned. Mrs. Osaka said that Room 308 has been reserved by an individual, saying that his niece will be arriving from out of town within the week. The exact date was like a wild card. But today gave no doubts as to when.

"Well this is my…I mean…'our' room."

The young woman looked around. She doesn't seem surprised or interested about the room. Her exhaustion demanded utmost urgency. Sweat is beading down her face. It doesn't seem to be to hot outside, Satoshi thought. She may have had a hard time hailing a taxi or getting to the station.

"You seem very tired. I can get you a glass of water if you like."

"No thank you. I can manage."

She laid back even further, stretching out her tired limbs back into shape. Satoshi didn't dare ask what brought her here, even though it is probable that they'll be spending quite some time together in one room without even knowing who she really is. What worried him though is the reaction of the other guys. What would they say knowing that he, in some whimsical twist of fate, happened to have a girl sleeping in his room with him? Maybe it would proper to suggest another room for her to stay in. Just for her sake. But that would be rude…

"Oh. I'm sorry if I'm sitting in your couch." She hastily stood up, thinking that she may have gone out of place for the past few moments. A slight blush reddened her face to her embarrassment.

"No. It's okay. Make yourself feel at home. Had you been walking all the way here?" He asked.

"Yes. I had."

"Why, did you get lost?"

"I beg your pardon?" She blinked.

"Uh…never mind. Say, we haven't introduced ourselves yet. My name is Satoshi. Pleased to meet you." He offered his hand with a smile.

"My name is Kasumi." She smiled back and shook his hand "I'm sorry if I arrived at a bad timing."

"No. No. Not at all. Feel free to uh…have a look around. Or you could just recuperate for awhile. You seem very spent."

"Thank you." She sat down again.

"Must have been a rough day for you today…" He grinned.

_You said it…_

Satoshi left her to rest while he went back to the bedroom and return to what he has been doing. Kasumi felt relief. She got a little worried when the clerk told her that the room Hayabusa had arranged for her already had a tenant. A guy. Maybe because most of the men she knew were overzealously aggressive, immature towards girls and letting their testosterone hype cloud their logical thinking. She giggled to herself when those thoughts shifted to Zack. He is a perfect example, after all. She had beaten him up in the last tournament; a warning for guys like him to have second thoughts crossing with her.

Thankfully, Satoshi seems different from the stereotypical males. At least she wouldn't worry about sharing the same room with him. However, he is technically a stranger to her. Kasumi found it best to keep her guard up and a good eye on him. Just to keep it on the safe side. Hayabusa's insistence that she move out to seek a better asylum kind of troubles her; it is easy to suspect that somebody is out there to kill her. Again.

"Hey Satoshi! Phone call!" somebody cried out

"Perfect timing..." he emerged from the bedroom, partly fully dressed for work with a cyclist's helmet and jacket with him. Because of his outfit, Kasumi thought that her roommate was a delivery boy. "I hope you wouldn't mind if I leave you here?" he asked.

"It's okay. Thank you for your concern." She politely replied.

With that, he hastily left the room; it must have been a very important call she thought. However, there is no point letting time fly by. She stood up and brought her bag with her to the bedroom. She began to arrange her few clothes and belongings in the closet at her bed. Surprisingly enough though, it seems that the entire room is unusually clean. Satoshi must have been very conscious about cleanliness. Even her closet, although he himself didn't use or need, is spotless. Perhaps he had been expecting her. Or maybe he just likes his hands to stay busy. Either way, how thoughtful of him…

"I guess I can get along well with him." She said to herself.

"You'd better…otherwise you may not have enough friends to keep you safe."

Kasumi suddenly spun around with her fists clenched. "Who's there?!"

"Heh. You can't even recognize me now?" The voice laughed.

A man was standing behind the door in the bedroom; wearing a black ninja suit with a hood masking his face. It seems that he had entered the room from the window. At a first response, she thought that it was an assassin. But his dark brown hair gave no doubts to who he is. Even without his shroud, she could recognize him from a crowd of many. Still, startling her isn't a good way to introduce an unexpected guest.

"Haya…busa?"

"Don't worry about the guy whom you'll be sleeping with. He won't take advantage of you."

He entered the room. Kasumi was left at ease. Finally a familiar face is there to greet her, even through surprise.

"It is good that you made it here. I thought you wouldn't survive in the city without your friends." He was referring to Hitomi and the others.

"Ryu. What is going on? Why did you send me to this place?"

Now is the time for answers. Finally, she thought. Being forced to leave her home in seclusion on such short notice with no valid reason isn't really her style of running away. Kasumi assumed that Hayabusa would give her the reasons why she must relocate. Or she could just be abruptly angry with him; the terrible effects of walking aimlessly 50 minutes ago with no clear destination are still present within her in some way.

"I can't explain everything right now. There's little time. I must be going…" Hayabusa then turned to leave.

_What?! So soon?! _

"W-Wait!" Kasumi grabbed his arm. "After all the trouble I went through, I have to know!!"

"I'll stop by here tomorrow…" He was still turning away from her.

"But you said-"

"I'll always check on you. Don't worry…" He muttered.

"Damn it! I don't even know what to worry about!" She yelled. Kasumi regretted cursing, but she was already very frustrated. Why wouldn't he just tell her?

She kept insisting, "Would you just-"

"Look! Do you really want to know?!" Hayabusa turned around; a gaze of ferocity was burning in his eyes. She stepped back, feeling terrified at his sudden gesture. He seems to be really serious about not telling her yet. In his eyes, it was obvious that there is a terribly grave matter concerning her. Probably something deadly serious. His next words proved her right.

"Somebody is out there to kill you!"

"Who?" She bravely asked. The thought of her life being in danger is no longer a surprise for her. "Hayate again?"

"No, it's definitely not your brother. I don't exactly know right now. But it's probably more ruthless than DOATEC. That's why I have to go and find out."

"What are you talking about?" Kasumi was all too eager to find out. There has to be a mistake. Nobody else other than the Clan would gladly see her as a corpse. Who is it now?

"My friend and I had intercepted a conversation when I was out on a mission." He explained. "I couldn't make out what they're talking about because of their choice of language. The call came from Europe, somewhere in Germany."

"What?!" She remarked.

"But rest assured, your name and my name have been mentioned quite a lot of times. As well as something like…America."

"Americans?! What would they want with me?"

"No. No. It's not them" Hayabusa held her arms, to try and calm her down, even though what he'll say just would not. "It's not their government. It's perhaps a much more shady organization in the country. I don't know. Like I said before, that's why I have to go and find out…"

"Something…more ruthless…than DOATEC?"

Should he be proven right, the genetic researches, the murderous conspiracies, the assassins and her clones; all of them could be nothing compared to what's in store for her. The thought alone gave her goosebumps. She has yet to see more terrible horrors once all of this begins.

"Whatever or whoever they are, I'm sure we haven't faced them yet."

"…"

"Who knows, maybe they're already here right now. In the city."

"No. Don't say that…" Kasumi trembled.

Those words were putting a new kind of fear in her heart. Hayate and Ayane were already relentless enough for her to handle alone. DOATEC's cunning, on the other hand, had the capacity to put her back on the wall, at least in one occasion. Now who else could be interested with her demise? The thought of another entity looking forward to her death gave the chills to her bones. Just like the words Hayabusa said to her before he left.

"But you'll be here to help protect myself, won't you?" For the first time, Kasumi was afraid for her life.

"I can't guarantee that…" By the tone of his voice, he meant every word about that. He hated to admit it, but his skills and knowledge may not be enough to protect her from this unknown foe. He has to double his efforts before the bodies start counting. At least until he exposed the enigma of this new threat.

"Look. If you have any, I suggest keeping your friends close. Your enemies might just get closer…"

Letting go of her was something he might regret, he thought. This could be the very first wrong move he have made. One that would cost him her life…


	6. Trust and Suspicion

**Trust and Suspicion**

_(Monday, Morning; en rote to Osaka)_

Along a highway with little traffic moving forwards and back, a convoy of 3 black cars is on the move. And inside one of them is a couple of 'privileged' young men clad in black suits, having a little chat with documents beside their seats; feeling undisturbed because of the smooth ride.

"…so she was just right across the room, taking her time as if she was a supermodel on a catwalk. Until she was standing real close to me in the bar and she goes, 'Your place or mine?' and I played it cool and I said, 'Yours, baby…"

"Yeah right. I saw the same movie last week…"

"What are you talking about, Jeff? You should pay attention for you might learn something!"

"Sure. Like making a fool out of yourself!"

"You're just jealous man!" Heckler blurted out. "You just don't know how to woo girls like I do!"

"You want to woo a girl?" McConnell asked. "Here." he handed his partner a document, sealed with the FBI's insignia with a label of "CONFIDENTIAL" in all caps. Heckler frowned; this is the same folder that his partner advised him to read during the flight to Japan. They'd just landed roughly about 20 minutes ago. And neither of them had much sleep to start a Monday with, after that 14-hour flight from Chicago. As such, he wasn't in the mood to get any official business started.

"I told you, Jeff! I'll read this later! When we get to the hotel!"

"That's the same thing you said to me yesterday, Stan. I hope your 'later' means today…"

"Fine. Whatever." He sighed.

Heckler fumbled with the folder. After managing to open it, a picture of a young woman immediately got his attention; eyes wide and his jaw dropped open at what he is seeing. The picture seems to have been taken from a security camera or something; there were lines of visual buffer and static in the black and white screen. But nonetheless, the girl's eccentric face was so clear to see. It looks like she's running from something when the shot was taken; possibly it came from an undisclosed location. Under the photo is a brief summary of the known information regarding her.

"Who the…" Heckler muttered dumbfounded.

"Our friends in the CIA say that she's our only lead." McConnell explained. "We don't know much about her; aside from the facts in that document. They've encountered her in Japan at least once. That's why we're starting from here."

"But…a girl?" A young woman in the FBI's crosshairs is something his partner hasn't faced before. And something he finds quite bizarre.

"We are going to relay this photo with the local police's criminal archives and see what we could dig up, although we are still going to need some clearance from Corwin and the consul. Hopefully, we can find more about this girl…"

"We don't even have a name?" Heckler raised an eyebrow in question.

"That's why we're here to find out what, pea-brain! Aren't you listening to me?!"

He ignored his partner's words and began to browse through the file. Quite unusually, he is using his eyes to do the reading and not his mouth. McConnell smirked, at least he was able to put his partner back in line for awhile; just the way he likes it. If they are to focus on the Pacelli investigation, they have to do it now. And with little to distract his not-so-even minded colleague. After all, they're just given two weeks. Something still bothered him, though. Why would DOATEC need Pacelli and Stewart's help in the first place? It just doesn't make sense. And starting with this enigmatic young girl seems to further that void.

_5 feet 2 inches tall, probably around 100-110 pounds. Around 17-18 years of age. Red hair and eyes…Hmm…clearly she's Japanese or Chinese or something…_

"Is she like Gogo Yubari? You know; that psychotic cute-faced schoolgirl with that little bladed spinning wrecking ball?" Heckler asked out.

"Hopefully not. She doesn't look like a member of the yakuza or anything." McConnell sighed. "Who knows? She does look potentially dangerous and deadly."

The CIA didn't extrapolate on how they get her photo, even though they are obliged to heed the FBI's request for resources. Moreover, they didn't tell the duo why was she running and all. It seems that she was escaping from something when the photo was taken. But from where, what or whom is unknown. Still the mere fact that she's on the run gave McConnell an idea that she may be a runaway escapee; from a prison perhaps. Whoever she is, he suspects that this girl has some ties with the local underground; age doesn't matter. Something is much more interesting though. Careful examination of the photograph would reveal that the place where this security photo is taken from seems to be in a laboratory...

"She's hot though." His partner smirked.

Heckler had always had an eye for girls. Being a high-school quarterback does add a few points to one's charisma. Although a lot of girls have been attracted to him, he doesn't take them all seriously; just like most of the desk jobs he is given occasionally. Funny, that's enough for Corwin to dismiss him. And here he is with McConnell, in Japan, with a top-priority investigation under way.

"Man. If we were to tackle with her and threatens the shit out of me, I might just break a chair and use one of its legs to drive a nail through her skull…"

If there was one thing that would make the girls not to want him, it would be his 'mild' morbid humor, which he rarely let surface.

"What the?! Your disgusting, Stan!" McConnell sarcastically remarked.

"It's just what I saw yesterday! Thanks to you! Who knows if it's going to be us in that same situation?!"

It seems he can't take the in-flight movie out of his head. It was a Tarentino film. Talk about the epitome of the human being's gruesome imagination. McConnell thought that his partner wasn't that sensitive and so he didn't dare ask what the film is all about. Maybe that scene where the heroine brutally killed all the yakuza single-handedly with a katana got stuck in Heckler's brain. The scene was set in Japan by the way. The place where they are in right now…

"Heh. Heh. I wonder." McConnell laughed. "Talk about assassins wearing cosplay costumes…"

"Yeah. Only in Japan." His partner followed suit. "As if we'll ever face one…"

Putting the document aside, it is time to shift their attention to something else. Something to divert their concentration from the strains ahead. This is the first time McConnell and Heckler had ever set foot upon this distant country. A beautiful sun, a good view overlooking the ocean, a wonderfully clear blue sky. The brochures were right, there's no doubt. It just can't be avoided for them not to relish the beauty of it all, though. After 14 hours spent up in the skies in the airplane, they were immediately greeted by their fellow agents, who are already in Japan for some reason, and gave them a ride to an undisclosed hotel. They will set up the base of operations from there. What pisses them both off is that they've should have left earlier, not Sunday evening, so that they'd be sleeping pretty well by now. Quite unusually, the workaholic McConnell can't wait to get to the hotel, to rest.

"How far is it, Liz?" McConnell leaned to the driver.

"15 minutes, Jeff. Just sit tight." She replied.

"Sure. But can't we get there any faster?" Heckler cut in. "I really need to get some shut-eye!"

"Why don't you drive Agent Heckler?" She grinned. "Oh I'm sorry, that's right. You can't!"

The convoy went on its way. As for the 15 minutes, Heckler and McConnell could only think about sleep, rest and relaxation. Most of them, eventually, would come short in the long run. They might start today the investigation today, if they feel like it. But one thing is for sure though. Tomorrow will be the start of everything. It has to.

* * *

_(On the same day, outside Mrs. Osaka's apartment)_

"I'm telling you, Ken! She's gorgeous!" Ichiro was, unsurprisingly, lively today. He's been saying the same thing to Ken ever since he went home from work last night. It seems that a girl just next to their room is causing quite a stir in his own head.

"OK! OK! I heard you! I already saw her face!" Ken shoved him off. "You've been telling me that even before I had a chance to get some sleep last night!"

"But you just had a peep! You'll need to see Kasumi up close and you'll see what I mean!"

"What? That you're just that desperate to get laid on?" Satoshi joked.

"Yeah, yeah, very funny Mr. 'I-got-a-hot-chick-in-my-room-and-so-that's-why-I'm-acting-nice-from-now-on!"

They have been talking about Kasumi lately. Even though she only got to the apartment yesterday. Satoshi and his friends are letting time pass by in a coffee shop just outside the apartment, with nothing else to do other than sip cups of strong black coffee and wait until their moods are ready for work. Ken is a bit conscious about caffeine and stuff and so he had himself a cup of tea instead. This isn't their style of starting a Monday morning with, but things got a little too different ever since she arrived. It's quite weird. Somehow, the moment Kasumi stepped in front of Satoshi's door; the manly attitude of Satoshi and the others seems to have been replaced by a more 'gentleman' mindset on how they'll act around from now on.

It's probably their way to impress her and reveal their friendliness. A beautiful young woman, although a stranger to them for now, doesn't deserve a testosterone-filled atmosphere after all. Yes. No doubt that she is beautiful. That silky ginger hair, those beautiful eyes, not to mention her buxom body and that porcelain skin. Ichiro couldn't get these thoughts out of his head.

"Hey Ichiro. Don't get any ideas…"

"Come on, Satoshi! I'm sure you're thinking the same thing!" He grinned.

"Look. Yes, I do find her beautiful. But I pay my respects to her." Satoshi took a quick sip at his cup. "Besides, why would I have lewd thoughts about Kasumi if I haven't known her yet?"

"Well, how about we start now?" Ken suggested.

"What are you talking about?"

"I mean, she seems very shy and all. I guess she doesn't have any friends in town. Do you think we should…uh…break the ice?"

"What? You mean, courting her?" Ichiro blurted out.

"No, you pervert. I mean, getting along with her. For her sake." He gulped down the last of his tea. "I guess she's a loner. And you know what society does about loners…"

Society dictates that loners are fodder for all the malicious forces in the human social fabric. The people who always get picked on, abused and exploited. Kasumi doesn't deserve this. So being friends with her seems nice. But putting himself to her shoes, Satoshi didn't like the thought of a girl having 3 guys as friends. It doesn't feel right. Nor does it sound right either. He felt that Kasumi, seemingly withdrawn from the rest of the world, doesn't get along well with people. What more the 3 of them? But Ken had a good point though. She wouldn't survive in the city if she is left all by herself. She doesn't seem to have any friends. She doesn't have a cellphone, a letter, or even a number that she can call. Satoshi never saw her used the phone in the clerk's desk. If she did come from a distant place, then she would have called her relatives and friends by the time she had arrived. This is something nobody saw her do yet. He supposed that she never leaves her room.

Ken is right. Maybe she is just a bit too shy for her own good. She needs to lighten up for her sake, even if it means that they'll have to start it. But it's this demeanor of hers is what captivates Satoshi most. She is an enigma. She doesn't talk that much. The conversation they had that very morning she arrived at Room 308 was perhaps the last time he heard her voice. She was already sleeping like a baby when Satoshi arrived from his night shift. And this very morning, even before he could wake up, she was already long gone. She's very different from the stereotypical female. She's not an open book, or is she that spunky and aggressively friendly like the other girls Satoshi knows.

"I think she's weird." Ichiro said. "Yesterday, when I was taking a shower, I could hear her talking to herself in the room."

"She may have been talking to Satoshi." Ken commented.

"No. No. I heard Yoshiro call him, saying that there's someone on the phone who wants to talk with him. There's nobody else in the room, right?"

"Well, maybe she's lifting her spirits up." Satoshi said in her defense "You know, self-encouragement? I'll feel uneasy myself if I realized that my roommate has a couple of friends, whom I find very scary, just right next to my room..."

"What? You mean she doesn't trust us?" Ken asked.

"Every girl might have felt the same thing, if being rowdy is her first impression on us. I mean, come on. Aren't we 'rowdy'? "

"But I still think she's weird!" Ichiro insisted.

"And I think you shouldn't talk about her behind her back." Satoshi said before finishing his coffee.

And quite literally, he was talking behind her back. Unbeknownst the friends, Kasumi was just sitting by the corner with her back turned, 7 tables away. She has been there just as Satoshi and the others had entered the shop. A blue cap which Hitomi gave her as a gift hid her long crimson hair, as her identity is masked with a blue sweater and matching jogging pants concealing her angelic white skin; assuming the characteristics of an anonymous jogger with a bottle of water in hand. A pair of suspicious eyes rolled to her left as she eavesdrops on the 3 boys. Hayabusa came to her today, like in yesterday's fashion, just before the sun has risen. Satoshi was fast asleep; a good thing since Hayabusa told Kasumi that he suspects that whoever it is who wants her dead might finally make a move tomorrow to take her out. He advised her to keep a close watch on her roommate and his friends; who are by now, in her eyes, the probable assailants she was warned about. Thankfully, Satoshi didn't hear this conversation in his dreams.

He does seem very nice. As with his friends, there's nothing much to worry about them. They are worthy of her trust. Hayabusa might just be getting paranoid, suspecting everybody as a would-be assassin, and this is bad since this would make him even more over-protective to her. However, it may not be a bad idea to consider his advice; to consider Satoshi and his friends with suspicion. The last she would do is to make a fatal mistake by letting her guard down. Kasumi couldn't figure out who else wants her dead, the fear for her life still made her heart beat faster. And tomorrow would be the first encounter with this unknown foe, if ever.

"Hey, man. Why are you doing that 'knight-in-shining-armor' routine?" Ken asked out. "I thought you didn't care about girls."

Kasumi blinked as if she had lost focus for a moment. They were talking again.

"Things have changed Ken." He stood up and got his things from under the table "She is my responsibility. So if any you guys try to…"

_How sweet. He's standing up for me now?_

"Yeah. Yeah. Don't worry man. I won't touch her."

"Well I doubt that you won't, Ichiro."

"…And if anything happens to her because of us, its Ken's idea!"

"You always blame me you pervert!" Ken heartily punched his friend.

"I'll blame the both of you if something happens to her. Got that?"

"Whatever." They both nodded as they stood up as well and brought up their things from under the table. It was roughly 8 in the morning, and it is time for work. Ken's carpool will be arriving shortly. Ichiro brought out his wallet and took a few bills to pay for the coffee and tea. Today was his turn to treat his friends. And with that the 3 of them began to leave.

7 tables back, a sigh of relief escaped Kasumi's lips. Good thing they didn't recognize her. "I guess that Hayabusa is proven wrong." She supposes that she doesn't need to worry about Satoshi and his friends. They seem to be too busy talking about her, which is quite flattering. Or maybe they are just that naïve about her. And with no doubt of their characters and intents, the next thing she'd like to think about is their potential for being a liability or an asset. But that would be put to later. She stood up and went to the ladies' room to freshen up. If Hayabusa is right about an attempt for her life that'll happen tomorrow, she has to be ready.

By the door, Ken tapped Satoshi's back. "Hey, is Mr. Suzuki still open for business?" He whispered.

"Yeah, why?"

"I'm going to file an order…"

Mr. Suzuki is a construction foreman. He is an old man, living in the city suburbs. Originally he was from Okinawa and had worked in a US military base there. Satoshi have known him for quite sometime when he used to ask him favors. He is a strong man quite obviously. His hale and hearty body was forged thanks to the many sleepless nights building skyscrapers. Mr. Suzuki, privately though, is an unlicensed gunsmith; something he has learned from the 'Yanks'. But this doesn't stop him from retaining his sense of morality. He refuses to sell his works to criminals and known gangsters. Instead, rich individuals can approach him anytime, seeing that they can't possibly use his guns to harm people. That consequently reduced the profit he can make, but he doesn't solely rely on selling guns to sustain himself.

"I need a rifle. It's a gift for my uncle in the US. You know him. He loves deer-hunting. And it's his birthday next week. Can you arrange that for me?"

"Sure but you got to have the papers to bring it out of the country…"

"My…uncle has arranged that already."

"OK. I'll get to him tonight, though you still got to talk to him personally. When do you need it?"

"Tomorrow…"

"What? Are you going to test fire it?" Satoshi joked.

"You know my uncle." Ken grinned, "He wants a sure kill."


	7. An Offer You Should Have Refused

**Disclaimer: **I will be having a hard time updating this story. College write-ups and reports are cutting down on my schedule, which sucks. I might be updating this once a month until then. And BTW, I don't care if this story doesn't get many hits and reviews. I continue because I believe that I finish what I've started... Rest assured, I will be completing this story in time. Anyway, a few hits is enough to motivate me to keep up with this little 'hobby' of mine...

* * *

**An Offer You Should Have Refused**

_(Wednesday Night; 6 Days Ago, Back in the US…)_

He had just awakened from a sleep as he can put it. And he was greeted by a bright light. Nathan blinked; he couldn't make anything out of what he is seeing. There seemed to be a white fog. And he is in a darkened room. Nothing else to mention except the table in front of him and the light bulb that blinded him; hanging in the ceiling, which seemed to illuminate only him and the chair he's sitting on. But Nathan could only focus on these for a short while. His head was in chaos, as if there was a wrestling match pounding at his brain. He felt dizzy, and he can only see in obscurity. He doesn't even know where he is. He is lost. The darkness of the room seemed to further the eerie atmosphere of weakness that he's feeling right now.

The last thing he remembered was blurred. He can recall being chased by people, jumping over a car, a gunshot and then being tackled… Then his eyes went shut when he felt a spark in his neck, like a dozen hypodermic needles thrust at the exact same spot in one of his nerves. And then everything spiraled down into nothingness. He knew he was zapped out cold by a tazer. Presumably he was then hauled into a car and driven off somewhere. The rest was blank.

He could try to figure them out. But suddenly, there were noises. Footsteps. He heard somebody enter the room. A clang of a knob later, then he heard a door shut. And there was a man. A round one. He tried to see who it was but Nathan couldn't mask his face. The light bulb's radiance doesn't seem to reach even the other end of the table. A shadowy figure is all that he could see. He settled to lean forward and get a closer look. But then he paused. Looking at himself, he realized that his entire upper body is constricted by a long nylon rope wrapped around his torso. He struggled to move, but to no avail. His hands were bound behind the chair. The chair itself seems to be welded firmly into the ground. He is a captive. Escape, he realized, is impossible.

"How are you feeling, Mr. Akahashi?" The man spoke in a low, elderly voice.

He instantly got Nathan's attention. His train of thoughts suddenly stopped.

"Who are you?" he asked out. "What am I doing here?"

The man, whoever this guy is, ignored him and sat leisurely at the chair in the other end. His entire body was silhouetted by the darkness of the room, as far as Nathan's eyes permit him to see. Judging at the shade this man's body formed, he seems to make up the shape of an old obese man. Then he heard more footsteps. A couple of men entered the room. One of them was menacingly tall. But still, the darkness restricted his vision. Nathan couldn't even see the reflection in the eyes of the people now with him in the room. They stood behind the old man sitting in the chair. He presumed that they are his aides or bodyguards.

"Unfortunately, there's no time for formalities." The old man cleared his throat. "So let's just cut to the chase and-"

"Wait a minute! I asked a question first! What am I doing here?"

"Heh. You're under arrest, remember?" He snickered.

Under arrest? He can't mean… And then came to Nathan like a sudden gush of forgotten memory. Those people chasing him… they were FBI agents. Mr. Stewart's place, the alley… It all became clear to him now. He was caught when the deal went… No. The deal didn't happen. The FBI were already in the building before he could even enter. They were obviously waiting for him. They had set a trap; and he fell to it.

"Wait! What did I do wrong?"

First things first, the most important question has to be answered: 'why'.

"Hmm. Well, you are an accomplice in illegal transactions by major crime figures to start with. You help circulate countless illegal imports and millions of dollars worth of drug money. We came up with a list actually…"

Nathan tried to sputter, but he can't. He is guilty. Those allegations were true after all.

"…But we will not spend all night because of that."

The old man gestured his hand. One of his men brought out a backpack, judging at its contour. He then placed it on top of the table, revealing every detail thanks to the faint light. Nathan was stunned. It was the same bag that he had when they caught him. It was the bag where he placed Mr. Pacelli's merchandise, to be delivered to his friend, Mr. Stewart. He knew that the contents of the bag might be used against him. It could be contrabands or smuggled goods. He doesn't know. Nathan never asked what he will deliver to his boss's clients.

"Whoa, wait a second." He spoke. "Look, whatever's in that bag, I have nothing to do with it. I'm just-"

"A delivery boy." The old man cut in. "I know."

"…"

"But you should explain this…"

He unzipped the backpack and let the contents…roll out. It was a shock. It didn't contain any illegal goods. None at all. Nathan's eyes went wide. There were no plastic bags of cocaine, smuggled appliance parts, not even stashes of drug money. Little did he know, that night, Pacelli only gave him a bunch of rocks. Shards and slabs of marble, to be exact. No wonder they were heavy. But how?

"Holy…" Nathan was dumbfounded. "Look…I…I…don't know how those…those things-"

"You broke my nose with those you prick!" One of the old man's subordinates growled out.

"Wha…What?"

One of the old man's aides, the tallest one, stepped out from the darkness; revealing himself. He was wearing a black suit, with a matching tie. He has an ID, but Nathan didn't even bother to glance at it. His attention was immediately caught by the cruel eyes the tall man gazed at him. Those were the same eyes that greeted him when he knocked at Mr. Stewart's door. Those from the 'watcher'. Nathan remembered that he shoved that backpack he had at his face when he tried to arrest him. There was a plaster over his nose, and reddened, possibly by blood. His hands clenched into fists.

"And I haven't even made you pay for-"

"Don't start, Nelson. Calm down." The old man sighed. "Zapping him out cold is enough for a payback."

Immediately he stepped back, following his boss's orders. But his gaze remained focused to Nathan's green eyes. Clearly he isn't satisfied by merely putting the young man to sleep with a few electrocuting sparks. He made his way back to his place behind the old man, and resumed his gesture of standing in attention, with hands behind his back. Nathan remained intimidated though, now knowing that this Nelson guy was the one who got him here.

"As I was saying…" The old man resumed, "…can you explain those, Mr. Akahashi?"

"No. No! It must have been a mistake! Look. Whatever it is that you're looking for in me, I don't have it!"

"It's not that, boy. I mean what can you conceptualize on this?" He asked. "Do you have any idea why those stones are in your bag?"

"Wait a minute." The young man replied. "Is this an interrogation? Or are you guys just going to torture me like what you always do in the movies?"

Quite frankly, he has seen enough of the brutality any law enforcement agency in the world are capable of doing. He has seen the scars, the lumps, blues and blacks and patches of scorched skin. And no, he didn't see them in the movies. People in Nathan's line of work do exchange stories of being busted, sometimes, quite literally by police. And they have the wounds to prove the fact that torture is never missing in the work ethics of cops or feds.

The old man snickered again. As if to mock him. It gave Nathan a sudden shrill of fear. He hinted that they can indeed torture him on sight. Sweat suddenly beaded in his forehead. He felt his heart starting to beat faster with fear. A little blood in their hands won't hurt them or their careers after all. These guys really mean business.

"Well we can go to that if you want to."

"But then I'll scream." Nathan spoke. "And people outside will hear it. I bet we're just in an empty room in a back alley, am I right, old man?"

A sudden faint sound of a car screeching along the road confirmed that. The interrogator was surprised to know that this young man has correctly guessed the location as to where he is right now. His intelligence reports were right. This Nathan Akahashi does have some street smarts. Smart, but not enough to get him out of his current predicament. Still he is worthy of some respect. The old man stood up and began to make his way towards the young man; finally revealing himself to him.

"Very much correct, boy."

Nathan was partly surprised to see this man's face. He was wearing a black suit, much like his aide Nelson. He is indeed a bit obese as his shadow hinted. A wrinkled and round face with a pair of dark eyes met with Nathan's youthful one. His suit had a shiny black nametag; "Victor E. Corwin"

"And I'll ask you again. Do you know why those rocks are in your bag?"

Nathan had had enough of that question.

"I told you, I don't know!" His tone gave out that he is infuriated.

"Hmm. Is that so?" Corwin uttered. "Well, I must say that I'm very disappointed that you left out an obvious detail tonight. I though you were as smart as my intelligence branch said you were."

"What? What are you talking about?"

Corwin settled nearer to him, a mere foot is all the distance that separated them, "Your boss, young man. Your boss. Mr. Pacelli has sold you out to us."

Nathan was stunned to hear that. No, that can't be. He was like a father to him. He even took care of his sister as if she was his own daughter. Mr. Pacelli turning his back from him now and ratting him out is simply incredulous. These guys are lying.

"Heh. Nice try old man, but Pacelli won't just-"

"Sell you out? laughs You haven't seen Angelo's nasty habits of bargaining his safety in exchange for one of his lackeys, kid." Corwin grinned. "He's been eluding and bribing authorities for 7 times now across the country for the past few years just to save his own sorry hide. And now's the 8th, in your case."

Sell him out to the FBI? No. That's impossible. But then, the mere fact that the FBI knew about the where and when about the deal with Mr. Stewart to be made tonight gave him questions. But still…

"You can't convince me…" Nathan rebuffed, turning his head aside.

"Yeah, yeah. He's your hero I know that…" Corwin walked beside him.

"If he would've sold me to you guys, then why did he drag Stewart and his proles along with me?" Nathan reasoned out. "Would he do that to his long time friend?"

"Well if you're really desperate, yeah." The old man replied, "I would."

"You can't prove it. You're just wasting your time."

"Am I?" Corwin replied, "Look. I know he's like a father to you. 'Adopting' you and your baby sister when you were kids and all. He showed you the ropes himself. You were in debt to him because he saved you from being eaten alive in the streets. But like any father, raising children is a pain in the ass sometimes. But knowing Pacelli, he doesn't want any pain in the ass. He removes it even before it surfaces."

"What do you mean?"

"Simple..." Corwin gestured his hand. "…medical bills."

"Huh?"

"Can I ask you, how long has your sister been ill? As I can recall, Emphysema is quite difficult to treat, considering her age and standing in society…"

"Hey! What have you done with her?! Keep Lena away from this!"

"Relax, boy." Corwin clenched Nathan's shoulder "She's in good hands. But considering the quality of treatment you can get in regular hospitals these days, I don't think she won't be fine after a few months."

"What are you talking about?" The young man asked.

"Pacelli has had enough. Spending 10 grand a month is something that you'd better start worrying about if you were a businessman. 10 thousand just to treat a chronically ill girl like your sister is sounds painful to somebody's wallet, now doesn't it?"

"You're telling me that he's cutting her off? No! No, that can't be! He promised me that he will help her get treated!"

"How much do you think he has left?" Corwin raised an eyebrow. "Ever since DOATEC stopped sponsoring his cartel recently, his business is quite in limbo; not surprising because he lost the protection he once had from the authorities. Am I right?"

"But…"

"And to think that a couple hundred dollars is enough every night for your little deliveries... You don't even know that he's not paying you enough!"

"No, wait! Lena was like a daughter to him! He wouldn't just abandon her like that!!"

"Do you think he's even interested to her? Have you ever seen him kissed your sister in the cheek?" Corwin raised his voice. "Do you really think she's his 'little princess'?"

He did he know all those things? But then Nathan realized that they were true. Years ago, Pacelli found him and his sister wandering in the streets. He couldn't recall how long has it been. All track of time seems to elude his memory. He clothed them and treated them like his own children. One thing he was very keen to was the fact that he and his sister were half-Japanese, as Pacelli would put it. Not only do they look like one, Nathan and Lena know how to speak the language fluently too. But all the tender love and care began to fade. As they grew older, Nathan became one of his henchmen, albeit the one whom he has a closer bond with. He even allowed him to go to Japan at least twice; while making 'friends' along the way. In the back of his mind, however, Nathan knew that this was all just meant so that his cartel would become stronger and would span a greater influence in the underground.

He became more distant from him and Lena. Eventually, the once lively father-children relationship deteriorated to that of a boss and his subordinate. Nathan didn't ponder about this, but looking back at it now and in a much wider picture.

"The only thing he's engrossed in is his interests and those in DOATEC paying him as their own lackey!"

DOATEC's interest with local cartels is something off-the-record. But it is a fact that they do hook up with criminals as a sideline. Not that they needed a dozen more or so pair of hands to do their bidding, but the connections crime syndicates have in the locales seems to fuel their interests. Pacell's group is one of the eyes and ears of DOATEC because of his collection of informants and spies. His lackeys have contacts almost all over the world. This web runs so deep that even the most elusive characters aren't always able to evade their radar. And DOATEC wants to keep track with all of these persons of interest. And a certain girl named Kasumi is one of them.

But ever since DOATEC fell apart, the ties were cut and many of those who began to rely on the world-grasping enterprise for asylum and help were easily hunted down by the law. Those who escaped arrest either changed their identities or simply just disappeared like ghosts, never to be seen again. Pacelli is among those who managed to survive somehow, but not for long. Corwin was right. His coffers are slowly dwindling, and he needed to cut costs. Nathan's 17 year old sister, Lena, will not be spared.

Lena was born with Asthma. It was something Nathan only realized when he played tag with her when they were still kids, and then she started wheezing and gasping for air. He thought an inhaler was enough to alleviate her condition. But then when the occurrences got more frequent, as well as the cases getting worse and worse, it dawned to him that this was no ordinary disorder. It was Emphysema. It was more appalling than the shortness of breath experienced by many kids of her age. But unlike Asthma, the damage much is very permanent.

She's been fighting the disease for 7 years. But, the costs were too great. She is absent in her class at least once per week, and the game of softball she used to be good at was now out of her routine. She suffers an attack every now and then, but often she ends up writhing on the floor, coughing and gasping for air. And that's why Nathan never had a daytime job. But amidst all her pain, that lovely smile she still tries to put up on her face was all her brother needed to still cling to the hope of her getting better. Therapy, though costly, keeps her on her; well at least as long as Pacelli still 'donates' to her medication.

Corwin was right. All of these boiled down to Nathan's mind into one thing…no, it can't.

"But he said-"

"Face it kid. There was never any affection for you or even your sister. Lena's going to die because of him."

The more Corwin stressed it out, the more Nathan realized that it was true. The care and pampering were all just a façade so as to hypnotize him into his circle of thieves, low-lifes and thugs for his own gain. The promises of a future for his sister were all false.

"However, considering the predicament you and your sister find yourselves into, I'm here to propose something." Corwin said. "So let me do this formally."

Nathan looked up to him, wondering what he meant. The old man waved his hand, and immediately, his other aide stepped out of the darkness and began to untie him. The young man was surprised. Are they letting him go? Questions fade away as the restraints finally freed his body formerly confined to the chair he's sitting on. It gave him a sense of freedom, but an afterthought reminded him that this might be at a cost. Or maybe a start of something grim that he'll regret. But he threw those aside. His heart was wrenching, knowing that his 'father' was nothing more than a fraud. Maybe even worse.

"So as I first said to you when I stepped into this room…" Corwin cleared his throat, "Let's cut to the chase."

Nathan sighed. He has nowhere else left to go. "OK. What is this about?" He was very much eager for him now.

"Simple. You do something for us, we do something for you. Give-and-take, so to speak. We know that your sister needs a complete medication to alleviate her bed-ridden condition, and of course we know that you may find the complete removal of your criminal records from every law enforcement agency's archives to be very interesting. Not to mention payback with Pacelli after 'failing' you in every conceivable point of view…"

Nathan clenched his fists. The father-figure of his youth was finally shattered. A father would fail his children. But to abandon them, that would go too far. He will pay…

"I would like you to do an errand for us in Japan, kid. Why? Well you spent a considerable amount of time there making friends, so you know how to blend in. Am I right?"

"Yeah…So what do you want me to do?"

Corwin grinned. Finally, they're getting somewhere. He handed the young man a small parchment, lacquered and sealed. Nathan opened the envelope, and he found a picture of a beautiful young woman, with crimson hair and scarlet gazes for eyes. He was stunned to see this and, of course, what this picture entails to him. He looked up to Corwin, who was seemingly amused by his reaction. And then, clearing his throat once more, he asked.

"Tell me, Nathan. Have you ever…killed a girl before?"


End file.
